


Electron Blue

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Lights Under Your Wings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dean has pets, Farmer Dean, Fluff, M/M, Nesting, POV Dean Winchester, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel crash lands into Dean's field during a storm and Dean loses track of all his pillows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electron Blue

The important thing was that he was _okay_. Granted he was stuck in the storm cellar with a storm bearing down overhead, but he was okay.

Severe weather came with the territory of living in Kansas, Dean figured. Regularly placid, cloudless skies in the morning could change to Hell on earth in a matter of minutes. If it weren’t for the portable weather radio he’d set up near the front window, he would never have been able to escape some of the storms that headed in his direction, only to have them dissipate within a few hundred yards. Somehow he kept being spared God’s wrath. He didn't bother to question it.

Decades ago, he had no _choice_ but to scream at the Heavens, _why_? Alert systems had advanced tenfold since he was born, saving countless across the country in the process. But where were they when the storm ripped apart his home, tore apart the lives of his family, took his mother and father when he was just a boy? Threw him into foster care against his will, ripping him out of his brother’s arms? All because they had no warning. Their parents had no will. There was nothing left to give them, anyway.

He worked his way through high school in Valdosta and bought a Greyhound ticket after graduation with more than enough cash to buy back the family farm, granted the land was still for sale. No one had bothered to clean up the property, let alone _purchase_ it in the past decade. Fields of uncut and overgrown wheat buried the remnants of what was their modest two-story home, half of the grain silo leaning on a defunct power pole. Among the dilapidation and pristine ruins, the barn still stood, his father’s prized Chevy sitting under the rotted rafters, covered in dust and dirt from years gone by.

No one lived that far west of Lawrence; the dirt road probably hadn’t been driven on in months. Every logical instinct told him to let the past stay hidden, to go on with his life. But his eighteen-year-old mind said different, and he bought back the land from the state for ten grand, leaving him with more than enough to start reconstruction. He would need updated farm equipment and enough wood and plumbing to build from the ground up, but for then, he started with what he had.

Three years later and some help from his neighbors along the way, a new four bedroom, three-bath two-story farmhouse was built, a fresh sight to the stagnant Kansas landscape. _With_ a storm shelter alongside the back porch. Ironically, the adage about ‘growing up in a barn’ made more sense to him than ever. He could finally sleep in an actual _bed_ than having to bunk with a stray cat and dog in the hay-covered loft. They slept in the bedroom by the kitchen; the cat, Mary, kept the field rats from getting indoors with John, the bluetick coonhound, always at her side.

He had a life there, selling crops and sunflowers to buyers in Topeka every fall; the money was enough to keep him stable, and during a good season he could afford to buy a new plow or tractor instead of fixing up the old equipment time and time again.

Sam showed up on his doorstep one sunny Sunday afternoon with a duffle in one hand and Mary rubbing against his pants leg; John was no help as usual, lazing his days away on the porch swing. They hadn’t seen each other since the storm’s aftermath – they were totally different people; what would life had been like had they grown up together? Pleasantries weren’t necessary; they hugged for what felt like hours under the Kansas sky, purely happy just to be in the others company again.

He stayed for a year and helped work the fields come harvest time, giving the empty home an otherwise lived in feel. It was nice having someone around, doubly so being that it was his _brother_ , the brother he was convinced was dead in a ditch somewhere. They weren’t allowed to contact each other for years. How Sam had found him was still a mystery; he never bothered to ask. It didn't matter anyway, as long as he was there.

Two days after he left the safety of their home to start school, a cold front began to move through in the early afternoon hours. He could smell it in the air, the scent of storms shuffling the unplowed fields, humidity making it hard to breathe. The heat was sweltering; clouds gathered on the horizon. On the television in the den, forecasters were tracking straight-line winds moving through Lincoln, giving him barely ten minutes to prepare.

Everything he held dear was already stored in the shelter; he had no need to run through the house and make sure of it. After storing the rocking chairs and tables into the living area, he gathered Mary and John and dead bolted them all downstairs, waiting for the wind to pick up and the storm to begin.

Maybe it was paranoia that led him to do this almost every time even the slightest chance of weather came his way; nine times out of ten, he jumped the gun and all it did was rain. This was the one percent – above them, lightning streaked across the darkened sky through the blast window, thunder booming just seconds after. Rain pelted the door; hail followed.

At his side, John cowered and Mary occupied herself with a cleaning her paw, oblivious to the situation as always. He fully expected the sky to bottom out and the wind to blow open the door, destroying everything he’d come to know – instead, he listened to the deafening sounds of thunder and the howling winds, rain coming in hard waves. One particular strike shook the ground and had John barking at the door viciously; he took him by the collar, pulling him away from the stairs.

That was… _weird_. Was it his imagination or was that bolt _blue_?

The only damage left behind was the barn door being blown open and some of the sunflowers being broken or blown down by the winds. Looking out from the unlatched door, he spotted blue skies off to his left, fading into blackened clouds and a _funnel_ reaching towards the ground on the opposite side. It just passed him – holy _shit_.

Mary ran back indoors through the pet door once the coast was clear while John barked at the fields ceaselessly, refusing to budge even as he was yanked backwards. Dean had other things to do, like rearranging the furniture and making sure nothing broke through the roof of the barn. Not stopping a dog from barking at wheat stalks. John thought differently – after five minutes of yapping in the lessening rain, Dean saw him bolt into the field and disappear from sight.

Well that was _great_. “John, get _back_ here!” he called out from the porch to avail. A moving path was being cut through crops, moving in jagged lines until the dog started circling something. Something he hadn’t noticed before – said something was also _smoking_.

Perfect, his field was probably on _fire_. Abandoning his current task of putting all the porch chairs in their rightful spot, he marched through the yard and into the stalks, shoving them out of his way until he found where John was yelping. The smell of something akin to burning flesh got to him before the _crater_ did.

John stopped his circling and ran to Dean’s side, sitting and wagging his tail with an air of triumph. He knelt down and patted his head, scowling, “what’d I tell you about runnin’ out here? You’re gonna get—.”

That was when he saw it – just a glimpse from his position a few feet from the edge, but he could’ve _sworn_ he saw a hand twitch. He steeled his jaw, patting John again before muttering, “stay, ya hear?”

John did as he was told and Dean moved to crouch before the crater, possibly twelve feet in diameter and another six feet deep. He didn't have time to wonder just how much money he would be losing from such a scar on his land when he saw what was inside – a _man_. A naked, bloodied, _winged_ man, looking like he’d been through Hell and back, lying in the middle of his field after a _lightning strike_.

What was he supposed to make of this?

 

Neither animal were particularly happy at him for dragging a limp body into the barn, especially when he left them to watch him while retrieved a basin of hot water and a few towels from inside the house, as well as a first aid kid for farm-related emergencies. For the moment, he was ignoring the fact that some bird-man landed and burnt up everything within a few feet radius along with it. He needed tending to; he wasn't going to have him _die_. And they were a few dozen miles away from a decent hospital, anyway; even if he tried to shove him into the wagon behind the tractor, there was little chance he’d make it on time. This was the best he could do.

He wasn't expecting the man to be _sitting up_ when he returned, though. John was licking a particularly nasty wound near the guy’s foot, and the weird… _Angel_ dude was letting him. He called John back; he refused to budge. “’M sorry ‘bout him,” he drawled, setting down the tub and other supplies at his side. “He’s too friendly for his own good.”

“It’s quite alright.” Dean nearly choked on his own tongue; was it even _possible_ for someone’s voice to be that deep? Splintered wings tucked behind his back, he pulled his good leg up to his chest, clutching his ankle loosely. “I’m sorry I startled you.” He was talking more to the dog than to him; it wasn't like he could answer back.

He wet a washcloth and rung it out before handing it over to the man. “For the blood,” he ushered. The stranger took it and wiped down his arms while Dean tended to the laceration on his leg, palming a good amount of water into it to wash the dirt out. “So I’m gonna just brush aside the fact that you got wings and you’re naked,” he gestured to…well, _everything_. “What’s your name? I’m Dean.”

With another washcloth, he cleaned around the wound; it looked worse than it was, thankfully. Audibly he heard feathers rustle in what was most likely curiosity. “Castiel,” he replied, head cocked to one side in silent watch. “I was attempting to divert the storm, but it appears I was… struck down, instead.”

“That sucks,” Dean exhaled. “So you’re an Angel?” He caught Castiel’s shy nod, chuckling at the sight. “So what’s an _Angel_ doing flying around backwoods Kansas? Ain’t no one out here for miles, yet you’re… here.”

“I’ve grown to like this house,” Castiel answered and handed over the bloodied rag. Surprisingly, all of the wounds that originally littered his arms had healed, leaving behind tanned skin. His legs fared the same. _Neat trick_. No use for the first aid kit, then. “It’s… homely, I guess you humans would say.”

“Y’sure do know how to flatter a guy, don’t you?” Dean sneered; Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Did you build it?”

He nodded. “Bought back the land a few years back. My parents used to own it, but…” Should he even be telling this story? He’d only told Bobby down the road in the one instance, and now he was mentioning it to some guy who just dropped out of the sky? “…They died in a storm, couple o’ decades ago.”

“My condolences.” It sounded like Castiel really meant it, too.

“It was a long time ago,” Dean shrugged it off. “I’m just glad I got the land back. Took me a few years to rebuild, but she’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

Castiel agreed. Dean watched him attempt to stand, only to have his knees give out halfway through, wings slumping at a dangerous angle. “…It seems I won’t be able to leave anytime soon.”

“So soon?” He tried not to sound disappointed. He just _met_ the guy, and he was already planning on leaving? “I’d say so, though. Both your… _wings_ are busted. Y’can’t, I dunno, heal ‘em?”

To his shock, Castiel shook his head. “There are fractures along the joints. Until they’re set, there’s not much I can do.”

“Well, you’re in luck!” Dean stood and offered his hand to the Angel, Castiel watching him wearily. “You come inside and I’ll fix you up, and y’can stay as long as you want.” Castiel took his hand, Dean making it a point to look elsewhere as he pulled the man to his feet, helping him stand. “And, uh… we’ll get you some pants, too.”

“Oh.” Castiel caught sight of himself, a red tint overcoming his cheeks. “I wasn’t aware.”

“You _just_ noticed?” Dean snorted. “C’mon, let’s get you set up.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Hearing an Angel _scream_ wasn't on his top list of priorities in life – and after having one of the attic windows shatter, he vowed never to hear it again. Setting the bones was much more different than having to tend to animals or the occasional farmer back in Georgia that _somehow_ managed to get run over by their vehicle, or God forbid their tractor. They were _massive_ , maybe ten feet off to each side, splintered and mangled in ways that didn't look even _remotely_ comfortable. Other than wrapping the bones in the best of his bandages, there was nothing he could do.

At least Castiel was grateful, even offering to help out around the house while he recovered, which in his estimate would take a few days. It was nice for the most part, having someone around; he didn't know if he could be left alone since Sam took off. Despite claiming he didn't need to sleep, he occupied himself in one of the back bedrooms, which also meant the complete rearranging of every piece of furniture inside. Over a period of two days, a good portion of the pillows, indoors and out, disappeared into oblivion until he went looking for the Angel and found them _all_ positioned around the shape of a blanket-shrouded mattress. And was that his _coat_?

He was building a _nest_ – could this get any weirder?

Admittedly, yes, especially after all tea lights in his pantry and half of his beatnik collection went missing. Never in his life would he have imagined having to confront someone about stealing his things, let alone an _Angel,_ and yet he found himself standing outside the bedroom, knocking halfheartedly. Disturbing him was on the lower rung of his to-do list, right behind cleaning the dust out of the gutters and driving into town to get dirt to fix the _hole in his yard._

From the inside, he heard Castiel call for him to come in. With some reluctance he did as told, finding the Angel on his stomach with bundled wings lying flat at his sides, still shirtless as ever, flipping through _Ask the Dust_ and kicking his bare feet in the air. Midmorning sun flowed through the windows to the east, illuminating a good portion of his pillows and blankets and some items he’d forgotten he even had.

“Look’s like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable,” Dean commented, stepping over a couch cushion – when did _that_ get there? – to stand beside Castiel’s head. He never looked up, flipping to the next page. Two stacks rested near his back, one taller than the other; at least he was actually reading instead of hoarding.

“I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced you,” the Angel replied calmly, eyes running along the lines. “The bed was unbearable, so I improvised.”

“I can see that.” He took an awkward moment to continue looking around the room, only noticing that Castiel was watching him after having stared at his wing for too long.

The Angel lifted said wing with a wince, setting his book facedown onto the mattress. “You’re welcome to join. I assume you have nothing better to do today?”

“I—uh—.” There actually _wasn't_ anything planned for the day. The forecasts called for showers later in the day, and he had no intentions of driving to Salina when it was anything but sunny. Sometimes living in the middle of nowhere could be an absolute pain. And besides, what was the problem? Other than the obvious implications of jumping into bed – _nest_ – with a supernatural creature, who of which was more interested in reading than entertaining his crisis of morality. Besides, it looked comfier than should be legal. “Y’know what, fine.”

Slipping off his socks, Dean attempted to restrain his eagerness and climbed into the nest with the Angel, finding a comfortable spot underneath his wing within seconds. This _was_ illegal; pleasantly warm from sunlight and the heat that naturally radiated from the body beside him, and the wing that now covered a good portion of his stomach and legs like a second blanket. He was shamed to admit he’d dreamt of the feel of his feathers for the past few nights; silken plumage tickled his skin with each breath, every small movement either of them made. He could sleep there.

“You’re not like other…Angels, are you?” he found himself asking as he rolled over onto his front, resting his cheek on folded arms. Castiel eyed him in curiosity. “I take it inviting humans into your… _nest_ isn’t somethin’ you do regularly.”

Castiel made a noncommittal noise, turning the page. “It’s not standard custom,” he admitted. “But considering I’ve pilfered your home, it’s the least I could do for the time being.”

“If you don’t sleep, then what’s all this for? Channeling your inner bird?”

He choked back a laugh at Castiel’s undignified expression. “I’m not a _bird_ , Dean. I’m an _Angel_.”

“And there’s a difference?” He snorted as Castiel’s wing smacked against his back, the pinions tickling his soles in the process. “Okay, okay, so what’s an _Angel_ doing with all my pillows, then?”

“Meditating, mostly.” Marking his place with a plucked black feather, he set the book aside and rose to sit, stretching his arms above his head. _Stop staring at him, you’re being a perv_! “It’s quiet here. I can see why you picked this place to dwell.”

“Gettin’ all soft on me here, Cas,” he joshed. Rolling over and draping his hands behind his head, he watched the Angel stroke through the feathers of his right wing, testing the strength of the ace bandage that bound everything in place. “So once you’re all fixed up, you’re gonna…?”

“Leave?” Dean nodded his confirmation. Under his watchful gaze, Castiel unhooked the bandage and let his wing stretch free, the look on his face expressing satisfaction. The longest of his feathers scraped the wall, joints popping before he tucked it close. “Possibly. I wouldn't want to be a burden on you.”

Without expressed permission, he sat up and ushered Castiel to show him the wing, purely for medical purposes. If it were wrong or not, if there were some deeper _meaning_ to the fact he was touching an Angel’s wings, he never spoke a word of it. In fact if he thought about it, Castiel looked rather pleased at his attentions, straightening out the few snarled patches and raking the loosened feathers free. A neat pile formed at his knee. “You’re not burdenin’ me, really.” He finished his ministrations, moving to check his mobility. “Nothing hurts?”

Castiel flexed as an answer, knocking over one of the unlit tea lights on the floor. So _that_ was where they all went. “Even so, Earth isn’t a place for my kind to live. We’re meant to attend our assigned posts in Heaven, not to meddle in the affairs of humans, despite incessant prayers. There are some Angels whom reside on earth that act merely as watchers, but other than that, we’re never here for any extended period of time.” He looked towards the window. “My garrison is probably wondering where I am.”

“But you stopped the storm.” Castiel turned to him, head cocked at an angle. “You knew I was here, you didn’t _have_ to—.”

“I wanted to.” Undamaged wing pulled tight, Castiel turned away; was he _ashamed_? “I should’ve let it demolish your home, but I didn’t. It was…a foolish decision.”

Dean folded his hands in his lap. “Why did you save me?”

He caught Castiel’s gaze, blue eyes radiating in the light of the morning; he was captivating. “I saw something here that felt worth saving. Looking at you,” Castiel stroked along his jaw, thumbing across his cheek with an incomparable softness that made his heart ache, “I feel I made the right decision.”

What was he supposed to say to _that_? An Angel crash lands after a potentially deadly lighting strike, claiming he saved him because he was _worth_ something? It didn't make sense – he didn't know whether to push him away or stay with him in his stupid pillow nest? The only thing that sprang to mind was running. Or at least, going downstairs to clear his head. Too much, too soon.

Castiel watched as he stumbled his way to the door, an odd mixture of disappointment and sadness tainting his normally stoic face. It hurt to see him like that. “I just need to…think, for a minute,” Dean stated.

“You’ll come back?”

He couldn't help but notice the small uptick of his lips when he answered, “…Yeah, Cas.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

“What d’you mean, there’s an _Angel_ in your house?” Sam asked him an hour later through the phone, incredulous. “Like, ‘Wrath of God,’ ‘Burn your eyes out’ Angel?”

“He hasn’t _burnt_ my eyes out.” Dean rubbed his forehead. He really needed the couch cushions back; sitting at barstools was doing a number on his back. “Though he made a bitch of a hole in the field. Said he got struck by lightning.”

“So what’s he like?” For someone skeptical, Sam sure was curious. “Wings, halo, thousand eyes, what?”

“Well, he’s got wings but that's about it. Broke ‘em on the way down, so I had to patch ‘im up. Then he stole all my pillows.”

Sam snorted on the other end. “What’s he doing with them, building a nest?” Dean rolled his eyes; Sam laughed. “So he _did_? What, has he asked you to be his mate too?”

“No, he hasn’t asked me to be his _mate_!” He shuddered; he wasn’t about to become some concubine, was he? “He said it’s for meditation, but I think he’s just hoarding shit. ’m surprised he hasn’t gotten to _my_ room yet.”

“Maybe he’ll ask you to move in with him!”

“This isn’t _funny_ , Sammy!” he growled. “I don’t know what to do here!”

“Well, what’s he doing that’s _irking_ you so bad? He tell you you’re pretty and bat his eyes?”

“I’m kicking your _ass_ when you come for Christmas.” Sam positively _howled_. “There was a tornado the other day and he said he ‘diverted’ it, or whatever. Said I was ‘ _worth saving_.’”

“You don't think you are?” That was the question – _did_ he? His entire life, he told himself he should’ve died in that storm. How did he and Sam survive in the first place? Sam believed they had Angels watching over them – Dean knew different. Angels didn't exist. Yet there was one rolling around in one of the upstairs bedrooms. “Hell, if _I_ was an Angel, I would’ve done the same. And I’m not just saying that ‘cause you’re my brother.”

“Yeah, well…” He stopped before he made a snide remark. If there were one person that would still have faith in him after all those years apart, it would be his brother. “…Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Even through his tone, Dean knew he was smiling. “Now go talk to your _boyfriend_. He’s probably sulking ‘cause you left the party.”

“He’s not my—.” _Oh fuck it._ “Go do… whatever college boys do, y’big dork.”

After saying their goodbyes, he placed the phone back on the hanger and sat there, plotting his next move. Thunder sounded in the distance; rain was coming.

He half expected Castiel to be preening or reading when he returned; he, however, didn't envision him on his front with his eyes closed, actually _snoring_. Was he _lying_ about the sleeping thing? Or was this some deep meditative state he’d never heard of? He didn't want to wake him; the pillow he stumbled over did that for him, promptly propelling him into the basin of the nest and rolling onto Castiel’s one healed wing. The Angel bolted upright, said wing flaring twice its normal size – shit, was he about to be _attacked_?

Somewhere near the opposite, actually. Castiel’s expression softened at the sight of him sprawled out in the blankets, looking as disheveled as ever. In the burgeoning darkness of the room and the sound of rain pelting the shingled roof, he saw a soft blue light emanate from between the feathers displayed before him; his eyes were dyed the same shade, all of it glowing in bright hues, calling to him.

He was truly a sight to behold.

Leaning up on his elbows, he scooted to his left as Castiel maneuvered into the space at his side, draping the glimmering wing over him as a second blanket. He was warmer than before, radiant. “Why’re you…glowing?”

A quiet smile graced the Angel’s lips. “It means I’m… happy.” He tucked himself closer, taking Dean’s hand and pulling it into the shared space between them. “You came back.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, “you’re my guest. Woulda been rude to leave you up here by yourself.”

Castiel smirked and clutched his hand tighter. “I’d like to stay… if you wouldn’t mind.” Electron blue eyes stared into his own, practically looking for his soul. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll return to my duties and leave you be.”

“I think it’ll work just fine.” He worked to thread their fingers together, settling into the blankets with little effort. “’Sides, Mary keeps asking where you are.”

“I told her she could come in,” Castiel added, and wait—.

“Since when do you speak _cat_?” Castiel had the nerve to _laugh_ at him. “What—.”

“It’s a simple language, Dean. Should I tell you what John was saying when you found me?”

“Save it,” he bit through a yawn. “You can tell me _after_ my nap.”

The softness of a wing brushed against his cheek before settling back down, burying him in pale light and warmth that lulled him into a sense of security he had long since forgotten. Around the perimeter of the circle, thirty candles caught fire one after another, flickering quietly with the downpour raging outside. All was calm.

**Author's Note:**

> Growing up, I wanted to be a meteorologist slash tornado chaser. Safe to say the Georgia public school system sucks dick when it comes to helping kids follow their dreams, so I became a writer instead. In other words, I really like weather.
> 
> Title is from R.E.M.'s "Electron Blue." You should take away all the CD's I bought.
> 
> Also I _might_ be up for continuing this as a series if everyone likes it enough. It's too cute, good lord.  
>  Edit: Due to popular demand, I'll be continuing this as a series over time. Please be patient~
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
